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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24602242">Love and Work (Or, Queens to Watch Out For)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remeinhu/pseuds/Remeinhu'>Remeinhu</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Six - Marlow/Moss</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anna is exactly as awesome as she seems, Anne has ADHD, Anne the Sexpert, Catalina loses her cool, Cathy loves making Anne squirm, Character Study, Clevard, Electric play (discussed), F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Jane has a wild side, Kitty is a closet nerd, Lesbian Sex, Mild Angst, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sex Toys, Sexual Humor, Sexual Roleplay, Swearing, aramour, meta-fanfic, parrlyn, world of snark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:01:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,617</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24602242</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remeinhu/pseuds/Remeinhu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Femme under the lights, butch later that night?” How TOO cliché.</p><p>Everyone knows the queens’ stage personae aren’t all there is to them. What they’re like in more…compromising circumstances adds yet another layer.<br/>Hilarity ensues.</p><p>(Concept based on Dykes to Watch Out For strips #290 and #291, "Love and Work I &amp; II").</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anne Boleyn/Catherine Parr, Anne of Cleves/Katherine Howard, Catherine of Aragon/Jane Seymour</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>69</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>146</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. (un)Composed and (un)Prepared</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is NSFW, but it's much more bawdy humor than it is true smut.</p><p>The queens' collective living arrangement in Fanon reminded me of Ginger, Sparrow, and Lois' shared house in Alison Bechdel's CLASSIC graphic serial "Dykes To Watch Out For," which then inspired me to map them onto this particular set of strips. And so, here we are.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It was, everyone agreed, unthinkable for Catalina to be caught wrong-footed. Don’t lose your head? No way would Catalina lose hers. Everyone knew she simply didn’t work like that.</p><p>Everyone, that is, except Jane Seymour, who knew—though she was firmly resolved to take the secret to her grave (well, her second one)—that the first time Catalina was faced with the question of what to do with someone else’s clitoris, she utterly short-circuited.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>            Catalina de Aragon was the consummate professional, as anyone who worked anywhere near the theater would immediately tell you.</p><p> </p><p>            If you’d forgotten your line, she knew it and was ready to prompt you. She was always the first to have learned new dance steps or musical variations, she was always prepared with spare copies of sheet music or blocking notes, and if you’d forgotten an extra bottle of water, or maybe an ankle support, it was guaranteed that Catalina had you covered.</p><p> </p><p>            Nothing in the theater could faze her. In the early days of the show, when they were still working out kinks in the choreography, Kitty had once accidentally smacked Catalina square in the face during the final tableau of “All You Wanna Do” during a performance. Despite the blood streaming from her nose, Catalina had not missed a single step. During the blackout at the end of the song, she plugged her nose, wiped down her costume, and continued as though nothing had happened.</p><p> </p><p>            When Catalina sang “always kept my cool,” she wasn’t joking.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>            Even at home, off the clock, everything Catalina did seemed efficient and purposeful. True, she had a temper, but even if she was angry at you, there was a <em>reason </em>and when she was telling you off she would focus on that <em>reason.</em> She was kind and maternal, but she demonstrated even this with efficiency and competence—a cup of tea at just the right moment (and of course she knew <em>just</em> how you took it), an offer to deal with a phone call or paperwork you <em>just. couldn’t. with. </em>anymore, a warm compress at <em>exactly </em>the right temperature when your head throbbed.</p><p> </p><p>            Indeed, if “Humble and Loyal” had been her motto as Queen, it was a matter of common understanding that in this life, her motto might as well be “Composed and Prepared.”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>            It was, everyone agreed, unthinkable for Catalina to be caught wrong-footed. Don’t lose your head? No way would Catalina lose hers. Everyone was sure she simply didn’t work like that.</p><p> </p><p>            Everyone, that is, except Jane Seymour, who knew—though she was <em>firmly </em>resolved to take the secret to her grave (well, her second one)—that the first time Catalina was faced with the question of what to do with someone else’s clitoris, she utterly short-circuited.</p><p><br/>
_____</p><p> </p><p>            “Erm.” Catalina peered up from between Jane’s legs. “What do I do with it?”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>            This was <em>not </em>the development Jane had been hoping for.  “Um? Touch me?” she panted. “Immediately?”</p><p> </p><p>            “How, though?” Jane heard a rising note of panic in Catalina’s voice. “In case you hadn’t noticed, <em>I’ve never done this before!</em>”</p><p> </p><p>            “Well, how do you touch yourself?”</p><p> </p><p>            “How do I <em>what?</em>” Catalina squeaked.</p><p> </p><p>            Jane sighed, accepting that this evening wasn’t quite going to go as she’d hoped, and reached for the vibrator in the drawer of her bedside table. “Catalina, dear. If you are amenable to it, may I suggest you watch? And learn?”</p><p> </p><p>            Catalina did a double take. “What on earth is that?”</p><p> </p><p>            “It’s a vibrator.” <em>You twit. </em>“Anne got it for me. Perhaps you should ask her for some help.”</p><p> </p><p>            Catalina huffed and crossed her arms. “I’d rather date a Protestant.”</p><p> </p><p>            “Well, lucky you, you aren’t. But seeing as Anne recommended it, I think it’s safe to conclude they use these too.” Jane switched the Magic Wand on.</p><p> </p><p>            Catalina let out an involuntary sqwawk. “Won’t you electrocute yourself that way?”</p><p> </p><p>            “Not unless you choose to be an utter dolt and expose the wiring.”</p><p> </p><p>            “But…”</p><p> </p><p>            “Catalina. My dear, my darling.” Jane sighed and switched off the Magic Wand again. “You are clearly very uncomfortable, and that is <em>fine. </em>This is all new and different for all of us. At the moment, I am very hot and bothered, because <em>you </em>are incredibly attractive and were doing delightful things to me right up until you panicked. So I am going to go take care of that in the bathroom while you calm down. Then, if you like, I would be delighted for you to spend the night and cuddle.”</p><p> </p><p>           “That would be nice.” Catalina felt slightly less distraught, but she was quickly becoming utterly mortified.</p><p> </p><p>            “<em>However,” </em>Jane continued firmly, “I strongly suggest you spend some time with your own body, and possibly get a bit more comfortable with it. I am more than willing to take all the time you need, but I really would not prefer this as a permanent state of affairs. Does that sound terribly good to <em>you</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>            At that particular moment, Catalina thought that what sounded terribly good was sinking into the floor.</p><p> </p><p><em>            I do </em>not <em>like not knowing what I am doing! And it’s not as if anyone ever trained me for </em>this!</p><p> </p><p>            Suddenly consulting with Anne sounded slightly less horrifying.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I straight up stole the "I'd rather date a Protestant" exchange from Jane the Virgin S4E10/Ch. 74, in which Jane Villenueva takes her grandmother, Alba, to buy a vibrator. It fit SO perfectly here.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Most Expert</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>At work, Anne Boleyn was a hurricane who was always mislaying something, pulling a prank, or making an off-color joke. But soon enough, if pressed, each queen would, to a woman, admit that they owed her a debt of gratitude. For, at one point or another, Anne had saved each of their sex lives.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>      No one really understood <em>how</em> Anne Boleyn managed to pull off a flawless performance night after night, because from the moment she rolled out of bed in the morning until the queens took their places before the day’s first curtain, she seemed to be intermittently possessed by a minor hurricane.</p><p>      (In fact, after one look at her dressing station, “Hurricane Anne” was exactly what the show’s properties manager had taken to calling her behind her back. The fact that after a few days of this <em>someone</em> had slipped very convincing rubber ants into his lunchbox was pure coincidence).</p><p>      Anne was <em>always</em> mislaying something. The rest of the queens had, without comment, taken to keeping a stash of spares at their stations so that her forgetfulness didn’t spiral into a minor disaster. Nor could anyone figure out how she managed to learn her lines and steps when they’d <em>never</em> seen her practice outside of rehearsal. But learn them she did, and for all her flubs in practice (which of course she always turned into a joke), a switch seemed to flip in her mind when the lights went down. From then onward, she was always pitch-perfect, and so all was, without fail, forgiven.</p><p>      Along similar lines, Anne’s charm and humor went a long way towards compensating for her quick temper and more than occasional lack of decorum. She’d snapped at everyone in the theater at some point or another, and it was now common consensus that she was subject to <em>very</em> strict rules during interviews, ever since she’d told an extremely ribald joke to a reporter who turned out to be from a children’s newsletter. Everyone always forgave her, though—she’d go out of her way to apologize for snapping at someone who was usually just in the wrong place at the wrong time when, say, her stage makeup just felt too oily to bear that night, and she usually brought chocolate when she did it.</p><p>      The queens, for their part, all adored Anne, even when she drove them to their wits’ end. Of course, they loved her for herself. But soon enough, if pressed, each queen would also admit that, to a woman, they owed her a debt of gratitude. For, at one point or another, Anne Boleyn had saved each of their sex lives.</p><p>___</p><p>      One of the first things Anne had learned about her infamous reputation was the myth that she had personally introduced fellatio to England, and she was deeply disappointed that it hadn’t been true. She therefore took it as a personal mission to make up for that lapse, leveraging her formidable powers of hyperfocus to learn everything she possibly could about human sexuality in an astonishingly short period of time.</p><p>      Soon, she’d collected a very impressive minor library of books, toys, lubricants, and other paraphernalia. Even more astonishingly to anyone who only knew her from the theater, every bit of that library was <em>meticulously</em> organized.</p><p>      And when you came to Anne’s door, nervously, perhaps after several days of screwing up your courage to admit that perhaps, despite trying to be patient and creative, you still couldn’t find a position that worked—or maybe that something you’d seen online turned you on for reasons you didn’t understand, and it felt <em>wrong, but SO good</em>, and oh God, were you a total pervert that no one would want to be friends with?—Anne would <em>not</em> answer every fifth sentence with “that’s what she said.” She would be cheeky, of course, and hilarious, and push your buttons, but she would also <em>listen</em>, and commiserate, and offer practical, focused advice.</p><p>      And it was for this reason, after mulling Jane’s suggestion—and thinking about the time, for example, when Kitty had emerged from Anne’s room with her face the color of her dyed hair but also looking less anxious and hag-ridden than she had in weeks—that Catalina found herself reluctantly seeking the sexual counsel of a <em>Protestant.</em></p><p>      “Oh, Anne?” She tapped at the door. “Might I pick your brain for a moment?”</p><p>      “Catalina de Aragon coming to <em>moi</em>? Be still, my beating heart.”</p><p>      “You know what, never mind.”</p><p>      “Lina, come back. What do you need?”</p><p>      Catalina stepped inside…nervously? Was that possible? “Well, it isn’t so much for me. A…friend…at the theater…asked me some advice, and I didn’t know what to tell them, so I thought you might be able to help.”</p><p>      “I see. And what does your ‘friend’ want to know?”</p><p>      “Well, this friend is in a new relationship…with another woman…and doesn’t really know what to do.”</p><p>      “Doesn’t know what to do about what?” Anne was enjoying this a bit too much.</p><p>      Catalina looked as if she’d rather be anywhere else. “Um, well, how to…navigate the undergrowth. As it were.”</p><p>      Anne would happily have allowed Catalina to squirm for quite a bit longer, but her conscience was, alas, catching up with her. “Well, my dear. I would suggest that if your ‘friend’ wants to have better sex with their new partner, they might begin by getting to the point where they are able to say the word ‘vulva.’” She arched an eyebrow pointedly.</p><p>      “<em>Must</em> we?!”</p><p>      “Yes, Catalina, you must.” Anne clucked her tongue. “Let’s drop the charade, shall we? It’s highly unlikely you’ll be able to make Jane come—or she’ll be able to do the same for you—if you don’t learn to make yourself come first. And that will require actually getting comfortable with your body. <em>All</em> of it.” She marched over to her collection and selected several books, a bullet vibrator, and a small bottle of lubricant, and pressed the stack into Catalina’s arms.</p><p>      “And what am I supposed to do with these?”</p><p>      “The books are clear and not too shocking, the lube is water-based, body safe, and cleans up easily, and the vibrator is waterproof. Spend some time reading the books. They’ll help you figure out where everything is, which parts feel best, and what you might do with them. Then think about kissing Jane and how that makes you feel. Maybe draw a bath if that will help you relax, and go to town with the vibrator. If it feels too strong, try using it over your knickers. If it feels too weak, come back to me for something more heavy-duty. Then, when you feel comfortable with that, maybe do it in front of Jane, if she’s up for it.”</p><p>      Catalina still seemed mildly shell-shocked. Anne placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Lina, dear. I know this is quite a lot. I promise, though—it’s <em>all right. You are allowed to cut loose and feel good.</em> No one will think less of you for it.”</p><p>___</p><p>      It took a while for Catalina to fully internalize Anne’s words. Nevertheless, as she sank into a warm bath that evening, vibrator at the ready, thinking of Jane’s dexterous hands and everything they could possibly do to her, she decided that <em>maybe</em>, just maybe, she could begin to see the value.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Bound to Display and Unnerve</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>There were lines that Jane did not cross, even at home. Her character might yell a few times in the show, but offstage, if Jane raised her voice, something was dreadfully wrong. She did not let out involuntary noises. And she most certainly did not curse. Ever.</p><p>Or so everyone but Catalina assumed. Catalina knew that these lines weren’t only crossed when something was dreadfully wrong. Jane also crossed these lines in particular circumstances in which things were dreadfully, torturously right.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>            Jane Seymour was a Proper Lady. She spoke softly and gently. She chose her words carefully, always a soothing and collected presence wherever she went. During rehearsal, she would gently run lines with whomever asked her to. You went to Jane when you needed your stage nerves soothed, when the lights and the noises got to be too much to handle. If a question of supply or scheduling needed a gentle hand and perhaps a little buttering up on the other end, Jane was the person to handle it. (If it required a firmer hand even as tact was still called for, you asked Catalina. And if you needed to read someone the riot act, you called Anna or, if you truly needed to go nuclear, Anne.)</p><p> </p><p>            At home, Jane was the shoulder you could cry on, the peacemaker in domestic spats, the one who would <em>listen, </em>and understand, and offer sensible, wise advice. There were lines, however, that you did not cross with Jane. You did <em>not, </em>for example, leave dirty dishes in the sink, not unless you wanted Jane to give you a look that said <em>I’m not angry, but I’m </em>very <em>disappointed, </em>which made you want to curl in on yourself and recite every penitential prayer you could find. (From her thankfully limited experience on the receiving end of these <em>looks, </em>Anna sometimes wondered whether Jane had the makings of a terrifyingly effective domme, but it wasn’t her business, so she didn’t ask).</p><p> </p><p>            There were also lines that Jane did not cross, even at home. Her character might yell a few times in the show, but offstage, if Jane raised her voice, something was <em>dreadfully</em> wrong. She did not let out involuntary noises. And she most certainly did not curse. <em>Ever</em>.</p><p> </p><p>            Or so everyone but Catalina assumed. Catalina knew that these lines weren’t only crossed when something was dreadfully wrong. Jane also crossed these lines in particular circumstances in which things were dreadfully, torturously <em>right.</em></p><p>___</p><p> </p><p>            If Jane and Catalina’s first attempts at sex had been fumbling and abortive, their subsequent encounters, thanks to Anne’s counsel, proved far more satisfactory. And that was when Catalina discovered that Jane had a secret of her own—though given the nature of things, it was going to be quite a trick to keep it that way.</p><p> </p><p>            Jane’s whistle register wasn’t reserved for the final chorus of “Heart of Stone<em>.</em>” And when things got to the point where that whistle register was going to come into play, her mouth was absolutely <em>filthy. </em></p><p> </p><p>            Personally, Catalina found this thrilling. She loved that she was the only one who got to see the wild side of Jane, and she relished her power to bring that side out. She marveled at her newfound comfort with herself and her girlfriend, and with this, she could be Composed and Prepared—and leverage that to make Jane come utterly undone.</p><p> </p><p>God, that woman was glorious.</p><p> </p><p>            Catalina and Jane, however, were also genuinely considerate people who had no desire to impose their sex lives upon their fellow queens. (“Unlike <em>some </em>people I could name,” Catalina groused one night after hearing Anne shriek “<em>Please, </em>Cathy, don’t make me wait any longer! You’ve had me keyed up for hours!”) Since they assumed, not unreasonably, that soundproofing Jane’s walls would raise some eyebrows, they tried to schedule sex for when the other four were out of the house.</p><p> </p><p>            That strategy had worked relatively well, all things considered. Until now.</p><p> </p><p>            As it happened, Cathy had found the pub they’d checked out that night far too loud, so they’d decided to pack it in early. As they approached the house, they saw that most of the lights were dimmed, so they figured Jane and Catalina had wanted a quiet evening and tried to keep the noise down as they opened the door.</p><p> </p><p>            At which point they heard Jane’s signature whistle tone echo through the upstairs hallway.</p><p> </p><p>            Although it sounded a bit shriller than usual.</p><p> </p><p>            “Huh,” Kitty said without thinking. “Mum’s going to hurt her voice if she keeps practising like that.”</p><p> </p><p>            “Oh, <em>fuck!</em>”</p><p> </p><p>            “Wait a minute,” said Cathy. “Did I just hear the word ‘fuck’ in <em>Jane’s </em>voice?!”</p><p> </p><p>            Kitty looked anxious. “I hope Mum’s all right…”</p><p> </p><p>            “Do me <em>now, </em>damn you!”</p><p> </p><p>            Anna rolled her eyes as understanding dawned on Kitty’s face. “Oh. Um, never mind.”</p><p> </p><p>            “…holy <em>shit, </em>where did you learn to do that, you motherfucking tease!?”</p><p> </p><p>            Anne smirked. “I think Jane is <em>more </em>than all right.”</p><p> </p><p>            “You <em>know </em>I can take more than that, you stingy bitch! Give me all of them!”</p><p> </p><p>            Everyone stood awkwardly in the foyer, not wanting to keep listening but unsure as to what to do next. The hallway filled again with whistle tones, which now seemed, impossibly, to be <em>rising </em>in pitch.</p><p> </p><p>            Finally, Cathy coughed. “You know, I think I’ve decided that the pub wasn’t too loud after all.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. God Send me in Wrist Deep</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Anna was strong, and she knew it. She was competent, and she knew it. She was devastatingly sexy, and she knew it. And she wasn’t shy about asking for exactly what she wanted, when she wanted it.</p><p>Hell, even the way Anna ASKED was maddeningly delicious.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter is somewhat more straightforwardly smutty than the previous ones. Be forewarned.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>            On stage, Anna von Kleve played a cool, confident badass for whom adversity was, to quote a contestant on <em>RuPaul’s Drag Race </em>(which the queens all watched <em>religiously</em>), “water off a duck’s back.” Offstage, she was…a cool, confident badass, the Queen of her castle, who, if not utterly impervious to adversity, was nevertheless unflappable to a degree that only Catalina could match.</p><p> </p><p>            If Catalina was Lawful Unflappable, however, Anna was (mildly) Chaotic Unflappable. Catalina’s cool was disciplined. She didn’t panic because she’d done her homework (and, well, the time she had panicked, she hadn’t understood the homework was doable), and she trusted that her training would carry her through.</p><p> </p><p>            Anna’s cool, on the other hand, came from the fact that she did not spare a single fuck for things she considered unimportant. Being kind was important. Showing up for the people who counted on you was important. Fairness and justice were important. The show was important. The people who made the show run, from the director to the janitors, were important. The Ladies in Waiting and her fellow queens were overwhelmingly important. And Kitty was the most important of all. Anna believed in being accountable to these people, and so she showed up for them unceasingly, in the theater and at home.</p><p> </p><p>            Anything else, Anna firmly believed, could take a damn number.</p><p> </p><p>            Some wondered if any of this was a façade—if any of Anna’s cool ever faded, or if she was hiding anything raw or broken under her skin. The queens mostly knew better, but they sometimes wondered if Kitty knew anything different.</p><p> </p><p>            Kitty could have told them they were wasting their time. She also could have told them that this was all right. In fact, it was glorious.</p><p>___</p><p> </p><p>            What Kitty knew was that honestly, Anna was a bit of an open book. Her personality in bed wasn’t all that different from her personality at work, or at home, or on stage.</p><p> </p><p>            Not that Kitty was complaining. At all.</p><p> </p><p>            Anna was strong, and she knew it. She was competent, and she knew it. She was devastatingly sexy, and she knew it. And she wasn’t shy about asking for exactly what she wanted, when she wanted it.</p><p> </p><p>            Kind, confident, direct women made Kitty weak at the knees and wet between the legs, and Anna was certainly one such woman. Every touch, every <em>look </em>from her made Kitty feel like the universe was repaying her for all the bullshit she’d suffered in her last life, and then some.</p><p> </p><p>            Hell, even the way Anna <em>asked </em>was maddeningly delicious. “<em>Kätzchen,” she’ll say in that glorious contralto of hers, “I want you to lick me. Long and slow. Will you do that?” Will I ever! Assuming, that is, her voice hasn’t already turned me into a puddle of goo on the spot.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>            “Kätzchen. I want you to fuck me with the strap-on. Will you do that?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>            Oh, Anna. Yes.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>            “Kätzchen. I want to make </em>you <em>feel amazing. Will you tell me what you want?”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p><em>            What </em>don’t <em>I want</em>? <em>I want your fingers. I want your whole hand. I want your mouth. I want your cunt. I want you to keep asking. I want your words. Your words show me that what I want is important. Your words show me that I get to want things.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>            The only problem was that she had something she wanted to try with her strong, confident, direct girlfriend that was kinkier than anything they’d done before. But she was sure that if Anna, uninhibited as she was, hadn’t mentioned it, it meant she had no interest. If <em>Anna</em>, who didn’t give a fuck, wasn’t into it—what did it say about her? Didn’t that make her a pervert?</p><p> </p><p>            Well, fortunately, she knew who she <em>could </em>talk to. She swallowed hard and padded down the hall.</p><p> </p><p>            “Nan?”</p><p> </p><p>            “Kitten?” Anne opened the door. Kitty thought her cousin looked a little peaked, but she welcomed her in anyway. “Everything all right, love?”</p><p> </p><p>            “Yes! I just had something I wanted to talk to you about. Is, er, the sexpert in?”</p><p> </p><p>            Anne perked up. “For you, Kitten? Any time!” She walked over to her desk chair—a bit more slowly than usual, Kitty noticed—and sat down. “How can I help?”</p><p> </p><p>            “Well,” Kitty began…  “there’s this thing I’ve gotten into, and it turns me on like crazy, but I don’t think Anna’s into it…”</p><p> </p><p>            Anne listened dispassionately, as Kitty concluded, “…and I just feel like such a freak!” “Listen, Kitty,” she said. “There is nothing wrong with any of that whatsoever, and I think that if you brought it up to Anna…” She broke off in the middle of her sentence, gasped slightly, and clenched her legs, then continued, “…I am <em>certain </em>that she’d be game to try it.”</p><p> </p><p>            “Um, Nan?” Kitty ventured. “Are you all right?</p><p> </p><p>            “Yeah, I’m fine! Just, er, a leg cramp,” Anne said, a bit too quickly. “Just give me <em>one </em>second…” As she grabbed her phone and started texting furiously, Kitty could have sworn she heard Anne mutter “…and I am going to fucking <em>kill </em>Cathy…”</p><p> </p><p>            “Ahem. Anyway. Look, Kitty. This is fine. It’s hot! And I bet the only reason Anna hasn’t brought it up is that it <em>hasn’t occurred to her.</em> Tell her. She’s taught you it’s okay to want things, right? Tell her what you want.” She stood up carefully. “Time for you two to get down, yes?”</p><p> </p><p>            Kitty grinned. “You’re a treasure, Nan. Thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>            As she closed Anne’s door, she heard her cousin wail (presumably into her phone), “CATHY! Stop torturing me already! Get your perfect ass down here and put your fingers inside me NOW!”</p><p> </p><p>            Kitty made a mental note to learn more about whatever it was that Anne and Cathy were up to. And possibly to add it to the list of things to discuss with Anna.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I firmly believe that Anna and Kitty both deserve some straightforwardly good sex without it being traumatic or about proving anything to anyone.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. No Other Fic but This</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The cast, the Ladies in Waiting, the crew, and the theater staff couldn’t be said to agree unanimously on much, but they could agree on one thing: Katherine Howard must be protected.</p><p>The other queens alone knew that Kitty was something of a closet nerd—and more than a bit of a Trekkie.  Anna, however, knew that Kitty’s interest in Star Trek got downright kinky.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>            Katherine Howard was sweet. Katherine Howard was adorable. Katherine Howard, it was universally agreed, was the baby of the show. The cast, the Ladies in Waiting, the crew, and the theater staff couldn’t be said to agree unanimously on much, but they could agree on one thing: <em>Kitty must be protected.</em></p><p> </p><p>            Never mind that the withering snark Kitty demonstrated onstage was more reflective of her true personality than one might expect—it was also the case, it must be said, that her fundamental <em>sweetness </em>was also quite genuine. Of the six, she had the greatest patience with the fans who gathered at the stage door, and she had a knack for picking out quiet, anxious teenagers who might hang back in a crowd and offering them words of quiet encouragement that seemed to make them fill out their shells just a little bit more after she’d spoken to them.</p><p> </p><p>            At home, she’d sit with you if you woke up from a nightmare, softly murmuring that it was okay, you were safe here, and <em>of </em>course <em>I of all people understand, have we met?</em> Her fundamental goodness, combined with some of her mannerisms, made her seem deeply innocent, even to the other queens, who really should have known better. For example, she could be mildly slow on the uptake of bawdy jokes and tended to blush when the punchline finally landed, and it was this that stuck with people, even her housemates—never mind that once she picked up the thread, she could keep up with Anne in sheer ribaldry. (Then again, her dirty jokes tended to be drier and sourer, and her delivery more deadpan, so perhaps they did require a little bit more attention if you were going to pick them up.)</p><p> </p><p>            The other queens alone knew that Kitty was something of a closet nerd—and more than a bit of a Trekkie. Anne (who was also a closet nerd) and Cathy (who was just a nerd, no closet required, and had been threatening to rope them all into playing Dungeons and Dragons with her) often joined her for Star Trek marathons. It was Anna, however, who knew that her nerdiness also belied any naieveté.</p><p> </p><p>            Kitty’s interest in Star Trek, in fact, got downright <em>kinky.</em></p><p> </p><p>            For all that she and Kitty were a couple, Anna had actually learned about this by chance. She would not have called herself a nerd (although she greatly enjoyed stand-up comedy, which she’d been informed was at <em>least</em> nerd-adjacent). So she didn’t have high hopes when Kitty had insisted she start watching <em>Star Trek: Voyager </em>with her. The show, however, had massively exceeded her expectations, so much so that she found herself dipping her toes into the show’s online fandom. And that was when she started finding details in one author’s fanfics that seemed somehow…familiar.</p><p> </p><p>___</p><p> </p><p>            It had been one of those rare occasions when Anna had the house to herself. She was the only one of the six who had that night off from the show, and she decided she was in the mood for a glass of wine and some good, wholesome smut. She cracked her laptop open and opened Archive of Our Own’s <em>Star Trek: Voyager</em> feed, a goblet of Gewürtztraminer at one hand and a brightly colored German vibrator at the other.</p><p> </p><p>             (“You’ll <em>love </em>this one,” Anne had assured her, after she’d complained that the first vibrator she’d tried was too buzzy. “It sort of thrusts instead of vibrating; they call it a pulsator. And it’s from Germany—national pride, right? Or something.”</p><p>“You do know there was no such thing as a united Germany the first time we were alive, don’t you?” Anna had groused. “I hardly think that client states of the Holy Roman Empire still exist, let alone have sex toy industries.”</p><p>            Anne had simply flipped her off. Holy mackerel, though—she’d been <em>right </em>about the toy).</p><p> </p><p>            One fic near the top of the queue (after, of course, she’d filtered the ratings to “explicit”—she didn't have time to faff around, after all) caught her eye. She scanned the tags: <em>hmm. Seven of Nine/ B’Elanna Torres, femmedom, BDSM, bondage, Fluff and Smut, Porn Without Plot—hmm, orgasm denial? </em>Electric play?<em> Well, there’s a first time for everything, I suppose.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>            Squad, set your vibrators to “stun.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>            Maybe it was the wine, or the fact that the story was especially well-written—<em>and especially </em>hot, <em>sweet Jesus. I will </em>never <em>look at a tricorder the same way—</em>but it wasn’t until the aftercare scene that a familiar phrase jumped out at Anna. Or maybe it was just because it was bizarrely out of character for Seven of Nine to use a term of endearment for <em>anyone</em>:</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p> </p>
  <p>            “‘Perhaps,’ Seven suggested, ‘you might benefit from some nourishment, ‘Lana Bella?’”</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>
  <em>            This maybe needed one more pass from the beta reader…wait a moment. Kitty calls me “Anna Bella.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>            Damn, </em>what <em>was this author’s pseud, again? </em>She scrolled up.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>            “KJaneway_is_Here.” </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>            Heh. Gotcha, Kätzchen. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>___</p><p> </p><p>            “Kätzchen, can I talk to you about something?” Anna seemed uncharacteristically anxious.</p><p> </p><p>            “Of course, Anna Bella.” Kitty genuinely had no idea what was going on, but she could already feel herself picking up on Anna’s nerves. “What’s up?”</p><p> </p><p>            Anna sat down on Kitty’s bed. “All right. Kitty, before we start, I need you to know that I was in no way intending to snoop, and I don’t in any way mean to seem like I’m upset or that I want to shame you for anything.”</p><p> </p><p>            “Um, all right?” Kitty didn’t find this disclaimer helpful in the slightest.</p><p> </p><p>            “Well, the other night I had the house to myself and was looking for some smut and, well, to make a long story short, I found some that I think may have been written by you.”</p><p> </p><p>            “Yes, you’re correct. I suppose ‘KJaneway_is_Here’ isn’t <em>that </em>hard to figure out. But what of it?”</p><p> </p><p>            “I…” Anna shifted uncomfortably. “I just wanted to tell you that if you wanted to try some of those things with me, I’d be willing, and…” She broke off as Kitty began laughing uproariously.</p><p> </p><p>            “Anne was <em>just </em>telling me the other day that I should ovary up and ask you already. She said you’d almost certainly be game for it.” She paused, and reached into a drawer, from which she fished out a long, red wand with a black rubber handle and two small copper prongs at the tip. “I promise I did the reading on how to use this safely.” She grinned at Anna. “I’d say I’m glad you’re not shocked…but maybe I want you to be soon, if you catch my drift.”</p><p> </p><p>            “Well.” Anna immediately looked calmer. “Sounds as though you need to give Anne more credit. And maybe me, too.”</p><p> </p><p>            Kitty stood and peered down at Anna coolly. “An interesting observation, Lieutenant Torres. Would you care to test your creditworthiness in other ways?”</p><p> </p><p>            Anna smirked. “I don’t owe you anything, Seven. Go fuck yourself.”</p><p> </p><p>            “That,” Kitty replied, “is an anatomically intriguing suggestion that I will consider at another time. Nevertheless, at this moment I require further knowledge—of how, for example, unmodified bodies respond to painful stimuli. Remove your uniform.” She brandished the wand. “If you fail to comply I will resort to more direct persuasion…”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>" ...Cathy (who was just a nerd, no closet required, and had been threatening to rope them all into playing Dungeons and Dragons with her)..."</p><p>Somebody, PLEASE write this fic.</p><p>Also, did I establish that Anna’s into stand-up comedy for the sole purpose of setting up a throwaway joke—really, just so that Kitty has an excuse to be ready with the punchline “The Aristocrats!”—in a still-to-come chapter of my other fic-in-progress? Why yes, yes I did.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. To Be Cunning Toward All Whom I Do</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Cathy Parr was not merely a brain in a jar. Indeed, she would have pointed out, her shortcomings only proved her physical interconnectedness with her fellow queens, whose love, she insisted, she most certainly needed.</p><p>	It was safe, however, to say that Cathy was not physically gifted. </p><p>	Anne was generally inclined to agree with this assessment, with one exception. For some reason Anne couldn’t figure out, when it came to making her body writhe and shiver and feel all sorts of delicious tortures, Catherine Parr was a freaking savant.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter is, really and truly, straight-up smut.  Again, be forewarned.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>            Catherine Parr was not, in fact, a disembodied intellect, but sometimes she had to go out of her way to remind others of this.</p><p> </p><p>            In fact, Cathy would, if you allowed it, spend a considerable amount of time lecturing you about the inescapable <em>materiality </em>of all intellectual activity. After all, couldn’t you understand the Queens’ entire saga to have been started by a pathogen—still not reliably identified by historians—that overwhelmed the already-weakened body of one Arthur Tudor? Or by the vagaries of human reproduction, and the ways those interacted with early modern European assumptions about gender, Scripture, and family structure?</p><p> </p><p>            After she’d gone on like this for a while, someone—usually Catalina—would break in and remind her that it would be very nice if she could acknowledge the practical implications of her words by giving her voice a break, and quite possibly, depending on how long she’d been talking, by allowing her captive audience to use the bathroom.</p><p> </p><p>            So, Cathy understood the <em>theory </em>of embodiment beautifully. There were just several aspects of the <em>practice </em>of it she was unsure of.</p><p> </p><p>            She wasn’t <em>completely </em>hopeless, of course. She had a beautiful singing voice and a wonderful ear for music, and she could dance more than well enough for her role in the show. Offstage, alas, she was a dreadful klutz who had by this point managed to bark her shins on every item of furniture in the house. Nor was she particularly apt where taking care of her organism (although the first and last time she’d used that phrase, Anne, who generally found her sesquipedalian loquaciousness impossibly hot, had told Cathy that if she said it one more time, she would never have sex with her again). Catalina regularly had to remind her to eat and sleep at normal hours, although she so hated the feeling of sebum building up on her skin that she had no trouble remembering to shower.</p><p> </p><p>            So no, Cathy Parr was <em>not </em>merely a brain in a jar. Indeed, she would have pointed out, her shortcomings only proved her physical interconnectedness with her fellow queens, whose love, she insisted, she most certainly needed.</p><p> </p><p>            It was safe, however, to say that Cathy was not physically gifted.</p><p> </p><p>            Anne was generally inclined to agree with this assessment, with one exception. For some reason Anne couldn’t figure out, when it came to making <em>her </em>body writhe and shiver and feel all sorts of delicious tortures, Catherine Parr was a freaking <em>savant. </em></p><p>___</p><p> </p><p>            Cathy loved nothing more than making Anne Boleyn <em>wait. </em>And she was frighteningly, intuitively good at it.</p><p> </p><p>            Part of the delight of it all was that while Anne loved drawing out her arousal to the point of near-torture, she simply didn’t have the self-control to do it to herself. This suited Cathy just fine. She found her limited control over Anne—“my little green chaos muppet,” as she affectionately called her—positively thrilling. As she drew the wait out longer, she loved the way Anne’s increasingly loud and creative profanities sent heat throughout her own body. She relished being able to make the cheeky, indomitable woman fall apart and <em>beg.</em></p><p> </p><p>            And <em>both </em>of them loved collecting new toys that made the whole process more interesting and excruciating. Lately, they’d been playing with a remote-controlled insertable vibrator. Cathy and Anne would fool around early in the morning until Anne was wet enough for Cathy to put the toy inside her. Then they’d get dressed and go about their day—except that every so often, Cathy would use the remote control to give Anne <em>just </em>enough of a buzz to drive her wild. By the end of the day, she’d be a quivering, begging wreck, at which point Cathy would let her come. If she was feeling generous.</p><p> </p><p>            If she was feeling mean, she’d make Anne watch <em>her </em>come, first.</p><p> </p><p>            (Anne had unwisely bragged to her recently that she thought she could go <em>two </em>days. Cathy fully intended to hold her to it.</p><p>            “You’ll have to take it out at night and clean it, though,” she insisted. “If you get an infection, it will <em>not </em>be my fault.”</p><p>            Personally, she thought Anne was overly optimistic. When she’d kept herself, by might and main, from falling apart during her meeting with Kitty—and, in Cathy’s defense, she’d had no clue that was happening when she’d decided to give Anne a random buzz—it had only been six measly hours).</p><p> </p><p>            The beginnings of all this had been much less high-tech, though. Actually, Cathy had discovered the whole thing by accident early on in her relationship with Anne. She’d been sitting behind her, kissing her neck and reaching around to caress her tits with one hand as the other worked its way down her belly.</p><p> </p><p>            “Cathy,” Anne had breathed. “Talk <em>nerdy</em> to me.”</p><p> </p><p>            “I beg your pardon?”</p><p> </p><p>            “Lecture me. Tell me what your amazing brain is working on right now. I want to hear you talk about your research. It’s <em>incredibly </em>hot. Just make sure to keep touching me while you do it.”</p><p> </p><p>            “Erm, all right.” Cathy considered. “The last thing I was thinking about was how the Bible’s reception histories and past and current interpretive communities unconsciously affect our plain, ‘unmediated’ reading of it, and the implications of that for the doctrine of <em>sola scriptura…</em>Anne, are you <em>sure </em>you want to hear me go on about this?”</p><p> </p><p>            “<em>Yes. </em>If you can manage to say ‘unmediated’ and ‘reception history’ as many times as possible, that would be amazing.”</p><p> </p><p>            “Okay. Well, it seems to me to fundamentally trouble the claim that Scripture is self-sufficient and self-contained if—”</p><p> </p><p>            “<em>Oh! Yes!” </em>Anne ground down <em>hard </em>against her hand at “self-contained.”</p><p> </p><p>            Encouraged, Cathy picked up steam. “—the histories of our interactions with the text form accretions that by definition contradict those claims of self-containment and self-sufficiency. I’m therefore starting to think—and of course I realize I’m far behind the curve on this, but I <em>do </em>have four and a half centuries of theology to catch up on—that it’s crucial for any claims about Scriptural theology to be cautious, patient, and self-disciplined—”</p><p>           </p><p>            “<em>Cathy,” </em>Anne whimpered. “You stopped touching me. I was <em>almost </em>there!”</p><p> </p><p>            “Shit, I’m sorry—” Cathy began, and then stopped, because there was something in Anne’s voice just then that was <em>hungrier </em>than anything she’d ever heard before.</p><p> </p><p>            She shimmied around to face her. “Actually,” she purred, “I’m not sure I should be sorry. I think you <em>liked it</em> when I stopped.”</p><p> </p><p>            Anne gulped. “<em>You fucking bitch,” </em>she snarled. And nodded ever so slightly.</p><p> </p><p>            Cathy got on all fours and brought her face just inches away from Anne’s. “I think,” she continued, “that maybe you want me to bring you back to the edge, and then stop <em>again.</em> And <em>again. </em>I think you want me to piss you off. I think maybe you want <em>me </em>to decide if and when you get to come.”</p><p> </p><p>            “Cocksucker. I hate you.” The insult sent an electric jolt straight to Cathy’s clit.</p><p> </p><p>            “That’s pretty rich, Miss ‘I-brought-fellatio-to-England.’ Except that you…didn’t. How sad.” Cathy’s hand hovered just above Anne’s crotch.</p><p> </p><p>            “You horse-fucking sadist—Ohhhhhh!” Cathy had briefly let her hand come to rest on Anne’s labia, which she stroked lightly, sliding one finger just barely inside of her.</p><p> </p><p>            “Wrong Catherine. Wrong country. And that was a myth, too. Tsk.” She took her hand away. “Queens who butcher history don’t get to come yet.” She sat back and crossed her arms.</p><p> </p><p>            Anne was flushed. Her hair was disheveled. Her breath was coming in gasps. She was trembling. She was so wet she had left a noticeable mark on Cathy’s duvet cover.</p><p> </p><p>            Cathy drank in the sight of her. <em>I have never been so turned on in my whole life. </em>Either <em>of them.</em></p><p> </p><p>            “Cathy, <em>please,</em>” Anne half-gasped, half-sobbed.</p><p> </p><p>            Cathy leaned forward. “Have you had all you can handle?”</p><p> </p><p>            Anne tried to purse her lips and shake her head defiantly. Instead, she whimpered “Yes. Please.”</p><p> </p><p>            Cathy reached out to catch one of Anne’s nipples between her index and middle fingers. “Do you need to come <em>now?</em>”</p><p> </p><p>            “<em>YES!”</em></p><p> </p><p>            “All right.” Cathy leaned back and spread her legs. “Eat me. <em>Then </em>you can come.”</p><p> </p><p>            The last thought she had before her body erupted in sensation was that <em>nothing</em> would ever feel quite as stupendous as Anne Boleyn swearing like a sailor into her cunt.</p><p> </p><p>_____</p><p> </p><p>            The other four queens had been reading quietly downstairs when a bloodcurdling scream erupted from Cathy’s room. Without thinking, they all bolted out of their seats, raced upstairs, and burst through Cathy’s door…</p><p> </p><p>            ...to the sight of Anne, limp, flushed, and panting, spread-eagled on top of Cathy, who in turn was flexing her left hand (the fingers of which glistened unmistakably) and wincing as though she’d strained something in it.</p><p> </p><p>            They froze. Cathy froze. Anne, who barely registered what was happening, bleated softly.</p><p> </p><p>            Kitty cleared her throat. “Erm. Two things. First, we will never speak of this again.”</p><p> </p><p>            Cathy nodded. “Agreed.”</p><p> </p><p>            “Second, the two of you will be keeping the entire house <em>amply </em>supplied with earplugs. In perpetuity.”</p><p> </p><p>            Cathy—who, though far less vocal, was herself not inconsiderably worn out—didn’t have it in her to object. “I suppose that’s fair.”</p><p> </p><p>            As the other four turned to leave, she added, “You really should be grateful to me, though.”</p><p> </p><p>            Catalina turned toward her, hands on her hips. “And why, pray tell, might that be?”</p><p> </p><p>            Cathy grinned wearily. “Because I’ve exhausted this one here—” she pointed down at Anne—“to the point where I think she’s going to be incapable of any mischief for <em>at least </em>twenty-four hours.”</p><p> </p><p>            Catalina raised her eyebrows thoughtfully. “Hmm.” She closed the door, leaving Cathy and Anne collapsed together in a heap.</p><p> </p><p>            Anne raised her head and slowly winked at Cathy. “Bet you I can last two hours next time.” She shimmied her hips, and Cathy was startled to feel heat rising again in her own core.</p><p> </p><p>            <em>Shit.</em></p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Honestly, I mostly had Anne say "cocksucker" so I could get all of the seven words you can’t say on television into the fic.</p><p>"Horse-fucking sadist!' 'Wrong Catherine. Wrong country'" is a reference to the urban legend that Catherine the Great of Russia died having sex with a horse. (This is not, in fact, how Catherine the Great died).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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